"Intersection"
The intersection's always licking
its worn grey lips, waiting for disaster.
People blow through the stop signs
all the time, usually to a wild fanfare of
horns, screeching tires, me swearing
from the porch. But sometimes
cars and people get fucked up—
like ruined in the ditch fucked up—
and the intersection gets it way.
Stay-at-home orders and school closures
haven't changed shit.
Last week I watched a southbound
car and a UPS truck taking a way too
wide right unsuccessfully conspire
to turn a mom and her two kids on bikes
into the gory red paste
American statistics are made of.
The intersection nearly got its way.
It'll get its way again soon enough:
blood for the blood god.
5.6.20
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